


New Vorn's Eve

by Kit_SummerIsle



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Destiny, Gen, Gladiators, Meeting, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A  chance meeting and destiny is changed. How about that? Is destiny that fickle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Vorn's Eve

**Author's Note:**

> It is just a sketch, something absolutely not planned or having plot or structure. It just wanted to come out and I wrote it down.
> 
> Happy New Vorn!

“Jazz… thank you for kindly inviting me vorn after vorn, but I really, I mean really don’t like loud, drunken crowds. I am sure that you throw the best New Vorn Eve parties, but you know… you know that I don’t like parties and drunks.”

Or very loud party music, but he wouldn’t say that to one of his best friends, who lived for loud music and many said produced very good music himself. Orion tried to appreciate it, he really did, but he just couldn’t see the appeal of hurt audios that rang for orns after a concert in Jazz’s club. A new-vorn party there would be Orion’s personal hell.

“I know… but I do try to draw your from your datapads every now and then! And it’s once a vorn, would you miss the main spectacle?”

Oh yeah, the fireworks, Orion remembered. Not just a loud party with drunken and rude mechs he barely knew, but also a beautiful, though dangerous spectacle.

“Thanks Jazz, but since my previous apartment was burned down from illegal fireworks, I prefer to watch them from a safe distance. Over the network is fine to me.”

“Okay, okay…. I understand. Still, I have to try and get you properly partying once!”

“I doubt that that will succeed, Jazz.”

“I don’t give up!”

“I know. Thank you for inviting me. You’re a good friend, Jazz.”

“All right, all right… go on and spend the new vorn celebrations with your datapads!”

Jazz laughed to take away the edge of his words, but his disappointment was still visible. Orion felt bad about refusing again… but he had tried these parties once and made a promise to himself never again. He wished his friend a good night and left the Archives on his way home. The traffic was strong, every mech in a hurry to get home and to their parties… Orion felt a bit strange about it. Even his fellow archivists were mostly going to various clubs in the city, it was just him, who was so much against them. He had tried one of their parties too, but found no difference from any others – loud, rude and drunk mechs boring him and making his audials hurt. Why could he not enjoy it, Orion never understood. Or why everymech else did. The drive home never felt this long with the heavy traffic and his melancholic thoughts… 

… and it came more the surprise when a servo knocked on his window as he stood at a traffic light.

“Excuse me!”

Orion looked at the mech standing boldly among the long lanes of traffic. He was of middle height and had a garish paint-job and Orion has never seen him before. He was also waving a sheaf of thin metal sheets with bold lettering…

“Extreme discount Sir! Now you can buy one of these for just five credits! A never again opportunity!”

“An opportunity for what?” – Orion felt mildly annoyed by the salesmech. If he was selling tickets for one of the public parties…

“An opportunity of a lifetime to see a spectacle worthy of nobles!”

“Of what?”- Orion wanted to move on. He had always had a sneaking suspicion that the traffic-salesmechs had a secret understanding with the traffic lights not to turn blue until they managed to sell their wares.

“Gladiatorial games, noble Sir! The best and strongest of Kaon can be seen here in our fair city!”

“Gladiato… what?” – such games of violence were never in fashion in Iacon.

“A special Tour, Sir! I can see that you’re interested already! That’s right, the might of Kaon will be performing for our enjoyment this New Vorn’s Eve – barely a few joors from now! Now, can I give you two for you and your… partner?”

“What? NO!”

“Just one then?”

Orion was almost outraged when one rectangle of metallic sheet was basically tucked in through his partially open window and a datapad beside it just awaiting his confirmation ping for the credit transfer. The lights miraculously turned blue and the horns behind Orion already blared in impatient annoyance. He cursed the pushy salesmech and his underhanded methods, but if he stayed any longer arguing that he wanted no ticket whatsoever the other commuters behind him might strangle him. He sent the confirming ping to the datapad with as strong glyphs as he knew of and slammed his window shut, suddenly wishing it pinched the intruding digits.

“Thank you, Sir, for the purchase and enjoy our marvelous and great event!”

The salesmech’s voice floated after him at once sly and happy as Orion put himself into gear and sped away, trying to pick up the flow of the traffic again. He firmly ignored the offending piece of metal on his dash. He was most definitely not interested in energon-soaked, barbaric entertainments, even less than parties and loud musics. Well, at least five credits was a small loss only. He drove on, eager to get home and warm and comfortable with his newest acquisition, an obscure little treatise he recently acquired on Tarn’s sixth gigavorn and its relics of the royal line...

But suddenly his attention was drawn to the little metallic rectangle that flashed silently the time, the bold lettering on it even more conspicuous as it blinked in sinister purple. Orion couldn’t help but read it.

KAON’S MIGHTIEST CHAMPION IN THE IACON ARENA!

it said and though Orion scowled in annoyance, he still read on the purple, bold glyphs…

MEGATRONUS FIGHTS ON NEW VORNS EVE!

The designation brought Orion up short. Megatronus, Megatronus… where did he read it not that long ago? He was sure that he’d never watched any gladiators, be them from Kaon or elsewhere. He read the little plaque on, his attention shifting from driving to reading…

SEE HIM AT THE EIGHTH JOOR AND ENJOY THE FIREWORKS AFTER THE DUEL!

Orion hummed as he tried to place the unusual designation. The fireworks would be a magnificent spectacle from the little arena Iacon possessed, due to its location. Orion suddenly frowned as the name suddenly clicked. Of course… he was just about to read the datapad currently in his subspace, signed with it as author. But it only added to the mystery. The glyphs appeared the same, but how could a star gladiator write a treatise on history?

ONE PERSON ADMITTANCE TO THE GENERAL SEATING AREA

Orion cast another glance at the ticket and checked the time. He could still go home, have a cube and clean up and have plenty of time to get to the Iacon Arena. Should he decide to go of course. He turned the ticket over and read the small letters – sometimes being an archivist paid off as he nearly compulsively read everything and discovered the usual traps. But not this time as there was not even a catch…

COMPLIMENTARY HOT ENERGON FOR THE NEW VORN CELEBRATIONS

Well, at least he could tell Jazz that he didn’t spend the night cycle alone at home with not even a small cube of high grade to celebrate the vorn’s end. Orion sped up as the road slowly cleared and drove home in a strange mood. On the elevator ride up to his apartment he fished out the little, battered datapad from his subspace and checked the author’s designation again, matching the glyphs to the ones on the ticket. Yup… it was the same. Huhh. He shook his helm a little bemused, just a bit more curious about this mech who could apparently use words as well as weapons.

An orn later a bit sheepishly he drove towards the Iacon Arena, a rarely used venue, a relic from the city’s more violent past which he knew only as a landmark so far… and went in, showing his cheap ticket to the ushers, imagining their bored glances to be judging of him to visit such entertainment at such a time. The other spectators, who were fairly sparse on the rows of seating looked much more enthusiastic about the upcoming gladiatorial event and Orion caught a few words here and then, shyly eavesdropping on their conversations.

“I’ve seen him in Kaon and I tell ya, he’s the best of the best!”

“It’s a shame there’s not even a full house!”

“Hear who else will be here?”

“I hear he’s fighting till first energon today…”

“Yeah, authorities didn’t allow death matches in Iacon.”

Orion was secretly very glad to hear the last piece of information – the more he realized he would see actual energon-stained fights and bleeding, horrific injuries soon, the more squeamish he started to become. He squirmed on the hard, cold seat and contemplated leaving. But just then the fanfares – very cheap ones, he noted – sounded loud and obnoxious and the audience broke out in scattered cheers and applause. Orion gave up trying to leave and settled on his seat, trying to see over the mechs in front of him.

A slightly rusted gate swung open on the opposite side of the arena proper and a small procession of mechs came out, making a circle inside the protective walls, trying to rouse the relatively small audience. Orion stared at the mechs. They looked like a really motley crew, a few dozen mechs seemingly in various forms and alt-modes, a lot of mismatched armour, a lot of cheap but fearful-looking mods – and of course a lot of weapons, both bladed and shooting kinds, brandished overhelm by the gladiators. It all looked a little surreal, Orion felt, like he was watching a videogame or a cheap movie instead of mechs in reality. 

It felt that way exactly until the first splash of energon was spilled onto the ground and the wound it spewed from sparked with torn wires. Then it became all too real as the slight wind brought the smell of it – congealing energon, burnt ozone, a sharp metallic tang that made his tank shift uneasily – and the clangs suddenly became sounds of weapons on armours, the shouts actual cries of pain and anger… and it was still just the first few rounds, the lesser fighters, he learned from the other spectators, the really big ones, like Megatronus would come only after the aspiring ones had their turns. 

Still he sat frozen and more than a little queasy on his seat, unable to tear his optics from the procession of mechs in and their victorious march out, some able to walk, other dragged out by the arena attendants, hopefully to medics in the bowels of the Arena… and Orion couldn’t help but catalogue every wound, every injury, every mech falling, every weapon he could probably not even lift… until he felt full and done with the casual violence displayed. He could discover no particular skill or excitement in the bouts. Whether it was because these were just minor gladiators or he was completely unable to appreciate the fighting, Orion didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. He wanted to leave and never look back – but he couldn’t. He seemed to freeze into the hard seat, his optics compulsively followed the fighting mechs around the energon-splashed arena. 

Finally, the cheer of the onlookers picked up and the diffuse din started to form the chant ‘Megatronus’ and Orion focused a little more, wanting to see the mech he used to be curious about. Was he any different from the nameless brutes splashing each other’s energon onto the ground so far? Would his strange hobby be visible on him, would he look like the author of a treatise or just another of the gladiators? How did a gladiator who wrote looked? 

Two mechs entered through the gate, one massive with a heavy, rough armour, the other slim to the point of delicateness but carrying an aura of chilling deadliness around him and Orion had no idea which was the writer he looked for. They seemed to move together like a team, even to Orion’s inexperienced optics, covering each other well, like belonging to the other’s side by nature. Another pair entered through another gate and for some unexplainable reason Orion’s sparkrate picked up a bit and he found himself rising from his seat, his vocalizer halfway about to join the others chanting the gladiator’s designation he still didn’t know.

The pairs separated, circled each other, their similarity eerie in their dichotomy, one big squaring off with another brute, this one devoid of real colours, his large frame flashing stark, bare metals in the light of the reflectors, his companion dark, almost elegant blue, slithering around him with waving tentacles and as silent as his partner roared in challenge… The sound that by rights should have been lost in the spectators’ shouts, but didn’t – it cut straight into Orion’s insides, making him tremble suddenly. It was primal and visceral, a wordless challenge that even he, the peaceful archivist understood instinctly and it echoed faintly in his processor and among the ancient walls of the Arena.

Orion stared at the spiked armor, the light-beams as they slid and stumbled on its marked, dented, uneven, imperfect surface and wasn’t sure why he was frozen to his place, why he was unable to tear his – _fascinated/appaled/amazed_ – strangely drawn gaze from the frame that slashed and attacked, spun like it was several tons lighter, that displayed its unbridled violence that should by rights appalled him but it didn’t… and it gracefully gave way to its companion and lightning-quick tentacles stroke home and drew sparks from similarly strong armour…

… they were playing with their opponents, Orion’s processor helpfully supplied to him, they were much stronger, faster, better armed, more devious and determined, but giving the crowd that has become more enthusiastic as the fight progressed a good show, something they paid for and hopefully would pay again, since they were as much gladiators as entertainers and for a nanoklik Orion remembered the stage tricks Jazz sometimes rambled to him about, and it was the same and still not, but Orion recognized the same attitude in the different moves, the same principles as Jazz, the musician-entertainer employed to keep his audience entertained for drawing the performance out as much as possible while spending the least effort from himself.

But recognizing the tricks did nothing to dispel their effectiveness and Orion’s optics kept following the choreographed dance of violence that took place in front of him, he kept swaying like all the other mechs around him, subconsciously avoiding an attack that wasn’t aimed at him, at them, but they identified so much with the fighters that they reacted like them… and suddenly he discovered his vocalizer starting to become hoarse and realized that it was because he too has been shouting and yelling for some time without even realizing it and the designation of Megatronus burned on his glossa and warmed him inside in a really, really strange way, like it was something special, like it meant something…

… but it didn’t and Orion realized that he had long forgotten the treatise on ancient Tarnian history and he has long given up his elite distance, his subconscious feel of superiority over the brute fighters, his curiosity turned to a burning need to cheer the gladiators and he no longer felt squeamish when energon splashed out signalling the end of the fight, the victory of the pair he felt so strongly about, with a beautiful and deadly arc the naked metallic blade drew into the dark and cold night of the arena…

… and suddenly explosions shook the stands and colourful flowers of sparks bloomed over their helms and Orion was not quite sure how the free drink appeared in his servo but he lifted it along with the crowd and shouted Megatronus’s designation under the canopy of the fireworks and drank to him, the warmth of the cheap high-grade sliding down his intakes, as the gladiator lifted his sword and his opponent’s energon dripped from it and flashed with many colours from above, his own yell now lost in the roar and the ground-shaking explosions, only his fanged grin flashing silently, a smoldering glance finding his own, Orion suddenly, queerly felt it bore into him, but it had to be another trick, like Jazz made each mech in his audience feel like he looked at them personally, yes it must have been that, for there was no way a Kaonite gladiator would single him out from the crowd and give him special attention…

And under the magnificence of the firework and the roar of their sounds the old, tired vorn gave way to its successor, a new one with fresh ideas and new mechs, the smell of changes heavy in the air like fire and powder that they came from and two destinies finally met and intertwined and wrote new histories instead of the old ones and they stepped into a new millennia with light sparks and innocent ideas, untainted yet by realities and compromises, fire burning as bright as the warehouse beside the Arena from a careless explosion and far more powerful.

Much later Orion wondered how he could describe the moment when everything changed but he couldn’t. There was no beginning – just a singular klik when destiny stood still for awhile before finding its new track as two sets of so different optics found each other.


End file.
